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To Chaya Grossberg's previous piece

Imagine a very dark room.
(In it, imagine a fire in a fireplace.
Each thing has its place.)

Imagine a child slipping into bed,
lifting the cover corner,
sliding under,
turning on his side, cheek to pillow,
hands at his chest in gentle fists.

(Imagine an electric stove.
Imagine the number one.)

Imagine a child with a fever,
a thermometer in his butt,
his mom's cold hand on his forehead,
on his back.
He feels the thermometer slipping out.

Now he buckles up for the roller coaster, there are loops.
(Don't be afraid sweet one, don't be afraid.)

He fell into the electric stove.
He fell in love with the number one.

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